


Your Man

by desfinado



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-02
Updated: 2011-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:25:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desfinado/pseuds/desfinado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alicia's trying to figure out why Mikey won't take charge, and ends up with a relationship intervention from Pete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Man

**Author's Note:**

> An alleged 'ficlet' that got away from me. For [radioaches](http://radioaches.livejournal.com), who asked for Pete/Mikey/Alicia after the summer of like. It sort of took off in its own direction, so I apologize! Many thanks to [mrsronweasley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsronweasley) and [ivesia19](http://ivesia19.livejournal.com) for making it readable. <3

Alicia isn't complaining or anything, but she needs to get laid.

Sure there are moments behind stacks of amps, two of Mikey's long fingers on the line of her jaw, his tongue sliding against hers. Or in the back lounge, Ray's guitar bumping the backs of her legs, her fingers walking up the knobs of Mikey’s spine and her mouth on his neck, drawing out soft noises as his fingers flutter from her hips to her hair and back. But it's been a few weeks of _moments_ , and she can't tell if there's ever going to be more.

Alicia feels like she's wooing a fucking virgin with how passive Mikey Way seems to be. It's bizarre because she sees him around backstage, the way he gets so animated that his voice cracks when he tells people stories from Belleville, or how he waves his hands around before tucking them in his armpits when he tries to convince people to listen to some obscure band.

She could read him well enough to know he was interested in her at the start of the tour, the way he'd always end up behind her in line at the food tent, the nonsense texts she'd get that would make her laugh sudden and loud from the back of some band's trailer. Alicia remembers the first time she caught Mikey looking: she was bent over double, pushing fingers through her hair, sweaty from carrying gear. When she stood up and shook her hair over her shoulder she saw him, hands in the tiny pockets of his jeans, one foot turned in, watching her. Behind his glasses his eyes seemed huge and dark.

In a way it's kind of sexy, because it's hard to get alone time on tour. Instead they pass each other throughout the day, between his interviews and signings and her sets. They duck behind tents, fingers curling into hoodie strings, hair, belt loops, always pulling closer. She knows they’re both into it, knows it in the hot line of his dick against her hip and the way it makes her shift, rubbing her thighs together. Alicia likes that they sneak those moments when they can, but it's the build-up that makes it hot and she doesn't know if it's building up to anything.

"Maybe he's self-conscious, or doesn't know what he's doing?" Alicia lifts up her bottle of Heineken, swiping her palm across the wet ring on the bar table before wiping it off on her jeans. "Or maybe he's nervous—oh _god_ what if he's a virgin, is that even statistically possible on this tour?" Her eyebrows draw together but she softens immediately. "Or he's trying to take it _slow_ to respect me. Shit. I hope he wasn't traumatized."

"No trauma, and Mikey Way knows what he's doing," Pete assures her, pulling the zipper of his hoodie up and down. Alicia had run into him backstage—he was up visiting the tour for a few days—and it hadn't been hard to convince him to come out to the bar the crew had taken over that night.

"Yeah?" She swirls her beer in the bottle, takes another swig, eyes scanning the crowd before falling back on Pete.

The corners of his mouth pull up. "And he's not self-conscious. Mikey knows how hot he is." Alicia can't seem to make that fit with the Mikey she knows, who stands with his shoulders hunched and drops one-liners that most people don't hear about wrestlers and Britpop.

"Then what's his deal?"

Pete grins, bites his bottom lip. "Maybe he's not into you. I know, I know! How is that even _statistically possible_?"

Alicia smacks the side of his head, and he ducks to rearrange his stupid bangs, smiling. "I don't need any shit from you, shortstuff," she says in a fond voice. "It's pretty obvious he's interested, okay?" She thinks about the tentative way Mikey's fingers touch her skin, the soft way he says her name.

Pete swipes a broad thumb back and forth across his bottom lip, considering. "Okay. Okay." He shifts on his seat, turning to face her, spreading his thighs and tucking his hideous orange sneakers behind the legs of the barstool as he plants his hands on his knees. "How many texts a day?"

Alicia laughs, loud and full, the kind she loves people pulling out of her. "Are you serious?" Pete's elbows are bent and he's leaning in, eyebrows raised. "Fine. Jesus. Ten? Fifteen?"

Pete wolf whistles, straightens his arms and sits upright. "Any song lyrics?"

"Not like cheesy, romantic ones, but." Alicia twists her nose ring, runs her fingers back through her hair, thinks _If a double-decker bus crashes into us_ , and—"Yeah, there have been song lyrics."

Pete snaps his fingers then, grinning. "Congratulations!"

"Fuck off," Alicia says, laughing. She sits up briefly to pull the back of her tank top down; she always flashes her ass on barstools. Fucking low-rise. "I don't need you telling me that. I need you telling me why he won't go anywhere near my tits."

"Mikey's got his own way of doing things... you just gotta operate on Mikey Time," Pete explains.

She takes one last pull off her beer bottle, sets it down only a little unsteadily on the bar. "I wish I knew the fucking schedule."

"Yeah?" Pete's eyes are big and dark in the dim of the bar, in the shadow of the hair in his face, and he pauses. It's all the more noticeable because of the entropy of Pete, how he's always in motion. He looks back and forth between Alicia's eyes. "Okay." His face splits into a grin and he flicks her right in the middle of her forehead.

"Ow! Hey—" she starts, but Pete hops off the stool and he's pushing through the crowd before she can say any more. He takes a few waddling steps to get his phone out of his back pocket before the door bangs shut behind him and he's out into the night.

Alicia orders another beer and hopes to god Pete's got more tact now that he's nearing thirty; the last thing she needs is a fourth-grade intervention. She drops a handful of bills on the bar and slides off the stool, heading toward a group of familiar faces by the dart boards.

* * *

It's half-past one in the morning and Alicia's on her second pitcher with the merch kids; they're fun and she hasn't caught up with them in a while. She teaches one of the new girls how to play it cool when she's standing in line for the port-a-john behind a guy whose face she used to stick all over her high school binders. Alicia likes the respect she gets from the crew—she knows her shit, and she's cool, friends with lots of the bands, been around a while. She's in the middle of telling two merch girls and a tech guy about the time she found a groupie hiding in an amp case when she sees familiar broad shoulders push through the door, the white flash of glasses frames.

Alicia must be a bit drunk because she's halfway across the room before she even realizes it, the three at the back table staring after her. The tight stretch of Mikey's Stone Roses t-shirt across his shoulders sets a low thrum through her, settling in the pit of her belly. She curls her fingers around his bony elbow and Mikey blinks and smiles down at her. His eyes are so fucking pretty; he's nearly wearing as much eye shadow as her. Damn, she is _definitely_ into this dude.

"Hi," she says, soft and stupid, and only then notices who's standing in front of them: "Pete."

"'Leesh," he grins, biting at the corner of his bottom lip. She wants to be wary about what he's told Mikey, but when she slips her hand to the warm, solid small of Mikey's back and looks up at his face again she catches his eyes flicking up from her chest and Alicia can't seem to find it in herself to be concerned right now.

"How was the interview?" she asks.

"Not bad." She feels the shift of Mikey's spine as he shrugs, and her hand slips under his shirt as it lifts, skin smooth and a bit sweat-damp under her palm. "I didn't really say much other than my name."

"Mikey's practicing to be a mime," Pete explains, plucks at the front of Mikey's t-shirt, "but he's undercover now, he used to wear the stripy shirts all the time."

Mikey smiles in that way Alicia's noticed he does when he's being made fun of, like he doesn't really mind. It makes it hard for her— _especially_ her—not to join in. "I heard from the techs that your French phase never caught on."

Mikey purses his lips and rotates his fists under his eyes, making a sad face. Pete's got his _heh heh_ frat boy laugh going as he joins in, drawing the bow back on an invisible violin.

"Nuh-uh, Mikey's got the emotional thing _down_." Alicia schools her face into a bored expression, squinting off into the back of the bar, slouching, turning one foot in and plucking at an imaginary bass.

Mikey grins down at her and says, in a small voice, "Hey! I'm in the _zone_ when I play," and Alicia grins back before Pete is slapping them both hard on their arms.

"Guys! Guys! We all play bass!" Alicia nods. "We should _jam_ , can you imagine how sweet that would be? We could have an acoustic side project."

"Fuck yes," Mikey shifts his weight between his feet, warm up against Alicia as she slides her hand around to bracket his hip, "three unplugged bass players, that's shit you can groove to."

Pete's grinning and looking back and forth between the two of them, and Alicia gets the chilling feeling that she and Mikey are suddenly, out of nowhere, about to receive _relationship advice_. But instead Pete hops onto one foot, digs his hand into his pants pocket, and pulls out a keychain that he dangles in front of them. "You guys are awesome. Want to come hang out at my place?"

"Your place?" Alicia asks.

"The van Dirty and I drove down in. It's seriously nostalgic."

Alicia feels Mikey's gaze on her for a moment, like he wants her to make the call. “Why not?”

* * *

Pete and Mikey are settled at opposite ends of the backseat, leaning against the windows with their knees bent, dirty shoes on the seat. Alicia's reclined in the one in front of them, right arm across the vinyl of the seat-back, chin resting just above her elbow as she watches them catch up.

"—she was pretty hot, you know," Pete is saying, eyebrows lifted.

"No, she was probably fourteen, okay?" Mikey shakes his head, knocks his knees together. "You are such a creepy old man. I felt bad, but I had to turn her down."

"Having a conscience must suck, you should tell me about it sometime," Pete grins. "Heartbreaker."

"Dream maker," Mikey adds without missing a beat, "love taker."

" _Don't you mess around with me!_ " the three of them sing, loud and off-key, before breaking down into laughter, Alicia's muffled against her inner arm. She's still a bit buzzed from the bar and was thinking about getting Mikey alone somewhere tonight, but Pete's an old friend—of both of theirs—and this is nice. She likes this little space they've got going in the back of a van that smells like dirty socks and spilled soda, the dark of the parking lot around them making it feel like they could be anywhere in the world.

Pete sits up on his knees and settles back on his heels, rubbing his hands up and down on his thighs. "But rumour has it you've snagged the hottest chick on tour," he grins, nodding sideways at Alicia. She blows a raspberry into her arm in response.

"Rumour, huh?" Mikey quirks one thick, arched eyebrow at her and the corner of his mouth is pulling up in a way that makes her chest feel a bit full. His fingers are linked behind his head as he leans back against the window.

"Is she putting out? I hear she can be a bit of a stony bitch." Alicia rolls her eyes at Pete's idea of tact.

Mikey raises his eyebrows but says nothing, and Alicia thinks this boy needs to get to know her a bit better if he thinks she's the kind of girl who keeps this kind of a thing secret. "We'll see," she answers for him, looking at Pete. "I'm no blushing virgin."

"What, he's not sweeping you off your feet?" Pete wiggles on his heels, and he is _so_ loving this conversation. Alicia can only imagine what a horrific relationship counselor he'd be.

"Depends what you mean by that," Alicia says, trying to be vague, because she doesn't actually know what Mikey's deal is with all this no-second-base bullshit. She draws her knees into her chest and wraps her arms around them, shaking her hair back over her shoulders.

"Like pinning you against a bus?" Pete's looking at Mikey now, who is the master of unreadable expressions. "One hand around your wrists? Fist in your hair?" Alicia lifts her eyebrows, because she's not sure they're having the same conversation anymore. "Thought you had bigger balls than that, Mikey Way."

Mikey looks coolly back at him as Pete shifts, tucking first one then the other hand under himself, between his ass and his orange sneakers. It makes his back arch, his chest pushed out, and Alicia thinks he looks sort of on _display_. "Did you tell her?" Pete asks in that I-dare-you kind of voice Alicia knows well.

Mikey sits up after a moment, swings his legs off the seat and reaches out, placing a thumb under Pete's prominent chin, forefinger above. Pete's mouth is closed but his smile spreads wide anyway, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. The gesture seems unfamiliar, not like the Mikey Alicia knows. His face looks darker, the angles more severe, eyes lined with sweated-out eyeliner, the shadow across the bow of his upper lip more pronounced. Pete's uncharacteristically silent.

Mikey lifts Pete's chin with his fingers, turns it side to side. Pete's eyes fall shut, breath hitching, and Alicia could swear he pushes his chest out that much more, deepens the arch of his back. She hears Mikey sigh and suddenly he’s looking straight at her. She feels it like a flash of heat across her skin, and she _knows_ that look. She squeezes her thighs together where they’re pressed up against her tits.

"Pete wants you to know. I wouldn't have—you didn't need to know, but." Mikey's fingers drop from Pete's face and land in his own lap. He leans forward, tucks his chin over the back of Alicia's seat, and it's a tender look as he searches her face. "He and I. We..." it's enough, and Mikey stops there.

She's hot all over again, a twisting in her gut that's the faltering of her pride, the confidence that she even remotely knows what she's doing with either of the boys in this van. Thinking about Mikey's fingers that slip across her skin on the tanned, taught lines of Pete's stomach instead.

"He's got... energy. Lots of it, and. Lots of thoughts." Mikey hooks an arm over the seat back, palm folding large and warm over Alicia's knee. "Needs someone to, um."

She gets the hint. "Pin him to a bus?" She has to swallow before she gets the words out, but she smiles, and the smile she gets back from Mikey lets her know it's okay. She kisses Mikey's hand, lips closing softly over a knuckle.

Mikey nods before sitting back, hand slipping from her knee. "I didn't think I was really that kind of person, but." He lifts those wide shoulders as if to say _I was with Pete_. People are a lot of interesting things when they're with Pete, Alicia's noticed. With him, she's a bit more outgoing and obnoxious; they rip on each other and she likes the feeling—someone she can talk trash to with no feelings hurt.

Mikey turns to Pete again and he's still drawn back, sitting on his hands, but he's watching them. "It started," Mikey clears his throat, lifts a hesitant hand in the air towards Pete, hovering above his chest, "when he told me about his anxiety attacks." Mikey's hand falls back to his lap. "I guess I helped him focus, feel in control of it, or whatever."

Alicia's waiting for more but it doesn't come, and Mikey's looking at his own hands. Finally Pete hums, extracts his hands and swings his legs over the side of the seat, sits down normally. He's looking at Mikey. "Guess you have changed, dude." Pete blinks, turns to Alicia, "Your man here was in control, that's how he helped me deal." He's got a soft, sad smile going that Alicia doesn't see on him often.

It's quiet, and Alicia doesn't know if there's animosity or whatever between them, but feels like she should at least be clear on her part: "That's cool. I mean—whatever, I don’t mind." She smiles when they both look up at her.

"So I guess that's not how it is with you guys, huh?" Pete says on a small laugh, leaning back against the window and tucking his knees up to his chest, mirroring Alicia.

She stays quiet, because she has no clue. She already told Pete what she was confused about when they were at the bar earlier. "You're both gonna make me answer that, huh?" Mikey says to his lap, smiling.

Alicia smiles. "If you want to hold me down, I'm game." He looks up at her and she raises her eyebrows at him.

Mikey settles his gaze out the window. "There's stuff. I'm dealing with some shit right now, I guess. Whatever." Alicia thinks about conversations she overhears between My Chem's techs, thinks about days when Mikey seems to disappear into himself, no texts or smiles, and his brother’s eyebrows draw together in worry. Alicia has to remind herself that knowing the feeling of Mikey's narrow hips in her hands doesn't mean she knows _him_ yet. "I'm not trying to, like, unload. Or channel,” Mikey explains, “I just feel like I need, um."

Pete totally ruins this rare moment of Mikey sharing his feelings by shoving hard at his shoulder. Mikey carefully pushes his glasses back up his nose and looks over at him. "You!" Pete says, and he's grinning, which Alicia thinks is _wildly_ inappropriate at this exact moment. "Dude. I didn't realize. I'm such a tool!"

Mikey smiles a little, "I dunno, maybe."

Pete barks out a laugh before—pretty abruptly—climbing over the back of Alicia's seat. "Mikey is fucking set," he says, and wraps his arms around her without any warning. He smells like way too much cologne, which is par for the course with Pete. She laughs in confusion and pats his back before he's pulling the door open. "Lock it when you leave, huh? See you guys around backstage tomorrow!" The door slides closed behind him and he heads back off across the parking lot towards the bar.

"Um?" she ventures. The van is suddenly quiet in the aftermath of Pete's nonsensical outburst.

Mikey sighs, folds his hands on the back of Alicia's seat and rests his chin on them, settles those dark eyes on her. "Pete is. Well, he's not entirely _wrong_ , but." Alicia is very proud of her patience at this moment. Mikey lifts his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling, and the sad-dog look kills her. "I can't be that person right now, taking care of someone else. Maybe that's part of why I'm into you?"

Alicia sits forward, cross-legged, and feels like carding her fingers through Mikey's carefully-arranged hair. So she does, smoothing it back rhythmically off his forehead. He smiles into his hand, eyes on hers.

"You're kind of like this Amazon, you know?" The quiet, reverent way Mikey says it startles a big laugh out of her, all the way from her diaphragm. "And," Mikey continues before she can say anything—but she's grinning, she's not going to interrupt him, just continue to fuck up his perfect hair and listen—"and you scare the shit out of fans with fake passes, and you always know where everyone is supposed to be and you don't—" Alicia huffs a laugh, but she takes it, takes it and feels a bit like her chest is filling up with it, "—you don't go easy on me just because we make out or I'm in a band or whatever, and you can hold your liquor better than any of the techs, and there's always this little bit of skin showing above your belt.”

They look at each other for a moment, and Alicia is so into him, this massive dork with his limp, straightened hair swept back over his forehead and his awkward legs and his pretty eyes.

"You have these strong arms," Mikey reaches out, pulls Alicia's hand from his hair and touches the tips of her fingers to his mouth, talks against them, "and these fucking strong hands. I feel like you could make me—" he swallows thickly around his words, and if Alicia has any idea of how Mikey was with Pete, she is starting to understand why it's new for him to be saying this, "—make me do whatever. Whatever you wanted."

Alicia sets her shoulders a bit more straight, smiles and looks down at Mikey, his chin still on the seat back, her fingers still on his lips. "Yeah?"

He nods, kisses the tips of her fingers gently. Alicia feels a surge of adrenaline, of want-to-fuck, of _everything_ , just gearing her up. This is something she can do—she can't read signals for shit, but she can take fucking charge.

"Okay." She rubs her thumb, chipped black with nail polish, over Mikey's full lips. His hand falls away, eyes slipping shut. Alicia inhales and pushes, feels the immediate give as Mikey lets her fingers into his mouth, beer-sticky from the bar, pushing against his tongue. He groans around her hand, sucks, and the sensation, the rough texture of his tongue, the heat of his mouth—she's so fucking turned on already.

"Shit, Mikey Way. You're kind of a ho." Alicia laughs at her own words, but Mikey makes more noises around her fingers and she thinks _shit_ , _shit_.

She is so fucking done for this guy.

* * *

END

(DVD commentary for this fic [here](http://desfinado.livejournal.com/41326.html#cutid2)!) 


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